Souls of the Grave
by Passionworks
Summary: Trade for Nikkel. For her own good, she knew she had to do it. Because she loved him. And as she stood in the pool of his blood, she realized that she just needed to breathe... Oneshot rated for graphic imagery and character death.


**Author's Note: This is a Trade Request for Nikkel. You wanted Jetzula, you got Jetzula! Thanks for being such a good friend to me and a great support in everything I do! You and TrueThinker are the best FFN friends I could ever have! Happy early 18****th**** Birthday!**

**The main inspiration for this piece is from the song _"Smoke"_ by Natalie Imbruglia from the 1997 album "Left of the Middle."**

Souls of the Grave

By: Passionworks

The leaves are floating in the air that mingles with our intertwined souls. We let the wind blow; our hair covers our eyes.

No, I want to _see_ your eyes. They are so odd: a dark brown. Green is the common eye color in the Earth Kingdom, but is this symbolic to your nature as an outcast? Your irises are so vibrant, but so full of undeniable pain and anguish.

_It's complicated, so twisted and immoral. I understand._

But what is this that we feel? Do you feel it? This knot that cuts off air supply? I cannot speak: words fall from my lips, but silence echoes from my being. I cannot describe: my arms shake and tremble, pen and ink in hand. Perhaps it is like water that fills a dam, it rises and rises.

_There are butterflies in my heart. My soul has never felt so full, so warm._

Your hand touches my cheek. I swear that I can feel the blood pumping through your veins, enriching you with the vitality of life. Our eyes meet, electricity bouncing off of our pupils. We smile.

_Because these simple things, meaningless little acts…_

You kiss me right on the lips. I am shocked only for a brief moment, but I melt into you, into your arms.

_Connect us…_

………

Our shadows are dancing somewhere in the darkness. The black void is inviting, quite tempting. My feet meet the wood, the floor creaking with the pressure of weight. As far as my eyes can see, there is nothing fancy here: just a sheet and a pillow on the floor in a corner and a small drawer next to them.

_No worldly possessions? Nothing to call your own?_

And I recall the look in your eyes, the loss that resonates from your beating heart. It is racing, _pounding_ madly.

I touch your chest. I can feel your muscles tense up at the sensation. It burdens me a bit to see you hesitate, to see you hurt.

_And with a simple kiss, I want to take it all away, to free your disturbed soul…_

………

I am what one would call naked, completely exposed to you. My breasts rise and fall. It is uncontrollable, breathing so crazed. Your calloused hands sweep over me, but the roughness doesn't hurt, nothing hurts at all. Then you scold me to the floor; the hard wood pushes against the small of my back. Your body dominates mine, but I do not care. For one moment, my father's face_ disappears_ from memory.

Your brows relax and your mouth hangs open, inviting my lips to yours. The heat of your breath is intoxicating, so unreal, but kind. It is fire: not the fire that shines a cold blue, but one that is shared. I let the warmth consume me as I wrap my muscular legs around your waist and arms around your neck.

_And I bleed, innocence a distant memory. It is a crimson that stains our skin, taints our flesh._

When we are spent, we allow a sheet to mask our closeness. The love we made is still permeating in the air. It breathes like fire. You take it in through your nostrils. It enters your system, into your lungs, and you snap. Something inside you just _breaks._

_Who are you,_ you ask me. These are the first words to be spoken between us. The gruff demeanor in your voice is erotic and sexual, but I sense disdain that raises the hair on my back.

And I tell you the whole truth. _Everything._ It is not what you want to hear; I see the displeasure on your face. But the words keep flowing from my voluptuous red lips. It rips my soul.

_Because somewhere along the way, I realized that I love you…_

………

You hate me for it. You feel that you have betrayed everyone and everything you have worked for. You are broken too, torn like a sunset that is damned to call on the night.

You rise abruptly. Your absence is _chilling;_ it leaves goose bumps on my skin. It is not as if I am afraid of you, I know _every inch_ of you by memory, every physical perfection and flaw.

You mutter under your breath. I do not hear the words. _Are they meant for me?_

I see the tears fall from your eyes. I get up to brush them away. I reach for you, but you retreat and back off. You fall to your knees and choke on your sobs.

_Oh, how I wish to embrace you, hold you in my arms like a newborn baby._

But I cannot, for I am motionless; I detest myself for it. My mind demands my legs to move, but it is as if my nerves and muscles cease to function.

You cry by my feet, and your depressed voice rings and reverberates off of the walls, bouncing into my eardrums.

I hear everything, but I let you suffer the damnations of our choices…

_Alone…_

………

Is it something in the back of my head? I hear my father's voice. His harsh tone mocks me and his eyes stare hungrily at my bareness. I can feel his masculine hands slap me across the face. Blood under the skin reddens my cheeks at the impact of this punishment. It stings a little, but my heart –tortured and confused -is where all my pain is.

When I was young, I thought love was a wondrous thing. I had considered it something permanent, everlasting.

But hidden behind the curtains, I would see what love really was: a cruelty that is _shielded_ by façade.

I learned the hard way. I suffered for kindness. I was taught to hate, to scorn and detest.

But from my groin, I _made_ love, a direct rebellion against my father's will. He will not have it, I know him well enough.

What if I am pregnant? Will this ensure my spot on the throne, or will it lead to devastation? My father would be the one to kill the child and its sire, deeming me a ruined woman: impure before my rightful time. I cannot reverse this, and being who I am in the world, words would leak and secrets would spread like wildfire.

But you are the man I shared intimacy with. I love you, do I not? And even though those minutes have passed before my eyes like snapshots, I cannot help but be inclined to protect you.

My eyes wander to a small dagger on the single dresser in your hut. I pick up the weapon, examining its perfect glow. The metallic gray highlights the features on my face.

_In an instant, I realize that I have never felt so alive…_

………

You have me up against the trunk of a tree, your body pressing upon mine. My left hand fondles between your legs, but you snarl and squeeze my wrist aggressively. I take your anger into consideration, but a piece of me disregards it as if it was not there. My lips kiss you, but you rub it away on your sleeve. I feel upset and panic-stricken; it _drips_ from my face.

You give me a concerned look; a flicker of hope, perhaps? Maybe you have a way of letting go of your troubles. Your arms take hold of my neck lovingly and you return the kiss. I follow your lead, my left hand now free to run its course along your clothed body. Your coverings give you a falsified depth in figure; I go beyond it, hungry for something better of you.

And you smile the smile that I love you for. It is bright and welcoming; it shines like a beacon. Your eyes have pushed your grief aside and I am pleased and proud.

But my father's voice whispers in my ear. It is quiet but unbelievably audible at the same time.

_It drives me, propels me…_

My concealed right hand grips the knife and it punctures your skin and digs into your heart. I pull the weapon out of you; it stains my hand with your ruby blood. The liquid gushes madly from the wound.

_Why?_ You stutter the single word in utter shock. Within a moment, your body falls with a booming thud. Your vibrant eyes have lost everything –luster, shine -and they glaze over; the color becomes translucent like blindness.

_You never hear me answer. Your spirit died long before the existence of words…_

………

Your blood has blackened and dried. It spits now and then, but much of the flow has left you. The wooden floor, once a simplistic russet, is now a rusty, foreboding red. I step upon it blindly, boldly, not concerning myself with the change that mingles on my toes.

I touch your lifeless body with hesitant fingers. Rigor mortis has set in; your limbs are hard as stone, unbendable like the elements of the other nations.

But at least you are_ free_ of the tyranny that my presence signifies, free from the sinful world. I am here to face the music, alone with no one to turn to, but I will be all right. My father will punish me to my own demise: there is _no need_ for me to exist.

I take one last breath of the cool air. It is refreshing and clean; it is the _final_ piece of the earth that I can hold on to. The last thing I will ever know.

The dagger, still discolored by your blood, takes its residence into my breast. I gasp as if seized by orgasm and then it numbs to _nothing _at all.

_My eyes blur and dizziness overpowers my head. I faint to the floor and allow the blood to pour. I hold your cold hand and await my fate…_

………

_And there is life where there is love. It is something seemingly meaningless, so tiny that it is microscopically nonexistent. From a single, momentary act by the meeting of two burdened souls, conception follows them to the grave…_


End file.
